Noble Deeds and Hot Baths
by yassandra
Summary: Ione is a loyal servant to her mistress.
A/N This has been written for the May Amnesty Challenge for Hurt/Comfort Bingo to cover the prompt: washing/bathing someone. I have to admit that I nearly did a nice little Jason/Pythagoras story involving unconsciousness, injury and bathing but Ione decided that she wanted her say instead! Ah well perhaps the other one is a story for another time... ;-)

I hope you all enjoy - let me know if you do!

* * *

Ione is a loyal servant to her mistress. It's just that most people don't know who her mistress actually is. It's not the ridiculously innocent Princess with her high ideals. No indeed. Ione is a clever girl and knows where the true power in Atlantis lies; knows that it resides with the Queen. It will not pay her to back the wrong person in the power struggle that is inevitably coming. The King is dying – that much is certain – and Ariadne will inevitably have to bow to the will of the Queen or be crushed (which, if Ione were a gambler, she would say is the more likely outcome).

When Pasiphae came to her with the offer of the position of Ariadne's maid and the promise of rewards to come if she did everything that the Queen wanted, Ione had not hesitated. It was a vast improvement on her previous post as a general servant within the household. Pasiphae had told her that she was looking for a bright girl who understood the realities of Palace life and knew how to follow orders as required. She had not said whose orders but Ione had immediately got the point. Everything she does now is for her true mistress' benefit.

She swirls her hands through the water as her thoughts race. Not quite hot enough yet; still a little too cold for comfort. It is the work of a moment to cross to the door and instruct the boy waiting on the other side to fetch more hot water. Ione feels a little surge of triumph when he immediately goes to follow her command. The boy is a low ranking servant; no more than a peasant – not unlike that boy in the city who, if Palace gossip is correct, has the favour of the Princess, and if it is true then Ione cannot fault her taste – the boy is certainly very pretty after all – although she does wonder at Ariadne's lack of sense and propriety in showing regard for someone so lowly born. Ione herself may not be from a noble house but she is still of good birth; the daughter of a respectable merchant. If she had been a peasant, then Pasiphae would not have promoted her to the position of personal maid of the Princess; it would never do for a member of the royal family to be served by someone _that_ low ranking after all.

The boy returns with buckets of steaming water which he hefts over the rim of the bath. It is an awkward job, however, and the second bucket slips slightly, water slopping over the edge and onto the floor.

"Clumsy oaf!" Ione spits. "Get a cloth and clean that up… and perhaps I will forget to tell the Queen about your ineptitude."

The boy shudders and turns frightened eyes on Ione (everyone in the Palace fears the Queen with good reason after all). The girl relishes the feeling of power she wields over him. Her position as personal maid to a member of the royal family has elevated her to the status of senior servant and gives her control over the lower ranking servants. She is not liked (of that she is well aware) but she finds she does not care. In some ways it is better to be feared after all, as the Queen is, and Ione tries hard to emulate her mistress.

She doesn't think she's particularly ambitious, but she does feel that she is meant for greater things than drawing and testing the Princess' bathwater. It does seem unfair somehow that she should be nothing more than a servant yet someone as politically naive as Ariadne should be a Princess, declared a Goddess on Earth, simply by accident of birth. What has Ariadne ever done to deserve her position in life?

Still, the Queen has promised her everything her heart desires if she does as her mistress commands. Ariadne will never stand a chance. Ione spies and pries for Pasiphae and passes every little detail of the Princess' behaviour on to the Queen, knowing that what she does will ultimately lead to Ariadne's downfall and her own ascendance into the ranks of nobility. The Queen has promised no less; jewels and riches and a position in society; a wealthy husband to do her bidding (just as the ailing King does the Queen's bidding). Ione smiles at the thought. Then she will have her revenge on all those who ever dared to look down on her; to treat her as nothing more than a servant; a peasant like the boy she has just terrorised.

Ione feels no remorse for what she is doing; for betraying the Princess. Ariadne has brought this on herself, Ione tells herself. If she had just submitted and married the Lord Heptarian as everyone but she had wanted then everything would have been alright. Ariadne has refused to submit to the will of the Queen and to the urgings of duty and now she must pay the price for her rebellion – as others have already paid the ultimate price on her behalf. Ione's thoughts briefly alight on Korinna (and there was another girl who brought destruction upon herself; if she had been wise – if she had followed the will of the Queen – she would still be alive and Ariadne's handmaiden… and Ione would not be in her present post).She thanks the Gods for Korinna's lack of foresight.

She tests the bathwater once more, decides it is warm enough and dismisses the boy, who has just finished mopping up the water he spilled. Uncapping a bottle, she pours a measure of the contents into the water (expensive oil which costs more than Ione earns in a year and is taken for granted by the Princess – Ione swears to herself that _she_ will never take such things for granted) breathing in the heavy, heady floral scent of roses. Ione swirls her hands through the water again and then carefully dries them on a waiting cloth, feeling the softness of the skin on her forearms. If serving the Princess has done nothing else, it has served to soften the skin on her hands, the soothing oils working their way in and doing their job. It was one part of being a servant that Ione always hated (one of many) – that her hands, once soft and delicate, had become work roughened.

She stands up from where she has been sitting alongside the bath and slips through the door into the adjoining room. Ariadne, still in her beautiful silk nightdress (and it seems so unfair that Ariadne should wear silk to sleep in while Ione has only linen), stands in the window, looking out over the city, apparently lost in thought (although Ione doubts that the Princess ever really thinks about anything important).

"Your bath is ready My Lady." She is careful to keep her voice respectful – although it is hard at times (how she despises this girl after all).

Ariadne turns with a smile (how easy it is to fool her; how readily she trusts her maid).

"Thank you Ione," she says softly, her eyes still dreamy – and Ione briefly wonders Ariadne was thinking about before she came in (not that it really matters).

Ione nods and follows Ariadne as she makes her way through the doorway into her bathing chamber. The Princess crosses the room almost dreamily, slipping out of her sandals and padding across the floor barefoot, undoing the ties of her nightdress as she goes. The material slithers to the floor to land in a silken heap at the girl's feet and she steps delicately out of it, undoing her hair from the braid she has slept in. Behind her back Ione rolls her eyes and pulls a face at the untidiness of it – after all would it really hurt the Princess to take her clothing off in one place and placing it neatly rather than letting it lie where it falls for her maid to pick up? It's something that Ariadne is usually good about; she does not generally leave her things lying around.

Ariadne turns and catches sight of Ione picking up the fallen nightclothes and sandals. She smiles apologetically.

"I am sorry," she murmurs. "My mind is elsewhere today."

"Is it anything that I can help you with My Lady?" Ione asks, being careful to inject just the right amount of subservience into her tone.

"I do not think so," Ariadne replies, turning back towards the bath.

As the Princess steps in, Ione regards her appraisingly. She has to admit that Ariadne is very beautiful. Like her stepmother she is taller than most women and her figure is girlishly slender. With big dark eyes and thick, lustrous black hair, Ariadne makes most women around her pale into insignificance. Ione feels a little surge of jealousy. It just isn't fair that Ariadne should have so many advantages and other women (her) so much less to start out with. Of course Ione knows full well that she is not unattractive herself but still who would look at her when she is beside the Princess; heir to the throne; Goddess on Earth?

Ariadne lies back in the water and closes her eyes. Ione is by her side as soon as she has folded the nightdress and placed it on a waiting stool. On her knees at the side of the bath, she picks up a cloth and gently wipes it down the length of Ariadne's neck, over the swell of her breasts and down across the flat planes of her stomach. It is a ritual that they are both used to. Ariadne is probably more than capable of bathing herself but as Princess of Atlantis her position in life means that it is expected that a servant will do it for her; will pamper her and pander to her every whim. Ione gently takes one golden arm, the limb long and elegant, and begins to delicately wash it.

"Do you ever wish that you were something you are not Ione?" Ariadne asks reflectively, not opening her eyes.

Ione pauses to rinse out the cloth she is using before returning to washing the Princess' arm.

"What do you mean My Lady?" she asks in return, mind racing. Surely Ariadne – innocent, dreamy Ariadne – cannot have learned of her true allegiances or her ambitions for herself.

"I am proud to be the daughter of the King," Ariadne answers, "and I know that I have many privileges… and yet there are times when I wish that I could change places with the women in the city… to live a simple life of my own choosing."

It is probably just as well that she keeps her eyes shut and does not see Ione's face. Ione fights to withhold the snort that is trying to escape. Somehow she does not think that the Princess would enjoy rising before the dawn as she does to ensure that her apparent mistresses clothes have been laundered properly and are laid out for the day, to make sure that her breakfast is properly prepared, to check that her bath is clean and all the oils, perfumes, unguents and cosmetics are ready, to clean her jewellery and to complete the hundred other little tasks she does each and every morning before Ariadne is even awake.

It is a ridiculous dream; the reality would be far different from anything the Princess can imagine. Ione cannot really believe that Ariadne is serious. No-one in their right mind would wish to swap the privileges of being a rich man's daughter – of being a princess – for a life of drudgery as a servant. Ione would swap places with her in a heartbeat but she thinks that if it really came down to it Ariadne would not want this at all; it is mindless talk, nothing more.

"Something troubles you," she remarks, moving down to Ariadne's legs. "You _can_ trust me."

Ariadne opens her eyes and smiles at Ione – that sweet smile that always sets her maid's teeth on edge.

"Nothing troubles me," she answers. "Truly," she adds at Ione's sceptical look. "It is merely idle talk." She sighs. "There are so few people that I can trust… I have so few true friends… and I sometimes wish… it is of no matter I suppose. I just wish that I had the choice to marry for love and not duty."

Ione stifles a snort again. In her opinion wanting to marry for love is the worst kind of romantic nonsense. When _she_ marries it will be for comfort, security and above all to advance her own position. Many girls marry out of familial duty and Ariadne will be just one more. To bemoan her lot in life when she has so many clear advantages shows, to Ione's mind, a distinct lack of gratitude; Ariadne should be grateful for her lot in life.

"The Lord Heptarian is a very handsome man," she ventures. "He will make someone a good husband." She realises her mistake instantly as the Princess' face darkens.

Ariadne snorts.

"He is both vicious and cruel," she responds sharply, "and he is _not_ to be my husband. The engysis was broken. It was the will of the Gods… and I would thank you not to mention it again… or to make impertinent suggestions."

"I am sorry My Lady," Ione ducks her head and makes sure her tone is suitably apologetic. "I meant no offence."

She strokes the damp cloth down her mistress' long and elegant limbs in silence. There is something almost sensual about bathing the other girl – although Ione is not that way inclined. Sometimes she wonders if Korinna found this as intimate as she does; sometimes she wonders what the relationship between Ariadne and her former maid truly was. There was clearly love and trust between them but was there ever anything more than that? Were they lovers? Ione still isn't sure and doesn't really know whether she wants to know to be honest.

Certainly Ariadne has never asked anything of that nature of _her_ and in all honesty Ione cannot say she is displeased by that. She would, of course, fulfil such a request should the Princess ask it of her, but to sell herself in that way would be distasteful. It is not that she has any specific objection to the idea of two women being intimate but it is not something that she desires for herself.

Still, it reminds Ione that, try though she might, she is simply not as close to Ariadne as Korinna was; does not share the Princess' full confidence or the little secrets she used to tell her previous handmaiden.

She moves to the top of the bath and begins to wash the Princess' long, dark tresses. Ariadne gives a little moan of pleasure as Ione's strong fingers begin to massage her scalp, seeming almost to melt into the water. Ione smiles to herself. She has talented hands and she knows it. Covering the Princess' eyes gently with one hand, she reaches out with the other and tests the water in a jug at her side. The water in it is just the right temperature; has cooled enough for use. Picking it up with her free hand, Ione carefully rinses off Ariadne's hair.

"When you are ready My Lady," she says softly, "I have your clothes prepared for the day."

Ariadne sighs and sits up. It is clear that she enjoys the daily ritual of bathing.

"Of course," she murmurs. "I have duties to attend to at the Temple. I must prepare for the day."

She allows Ione to help her out of the bath and wrap her in the large woven cloth that serves as a towel, sitting down in a chair to allow her maid to begin to dry her hair. The day is already warm so there is little chance of her feeling cold.

Ione fusses around her, drying black hair and golden skin alike; brushing and dressing the dark tresses; rubbing soothing oils and perfumes into Ariadne's body to leave the skin soft, supple and delicately scented; dressing her in soft silken undergarments and a delicate blue gown, and slipping bejewelled sandals onto her feet; applying subtle cosmetics to highlight the beautiful features; fastening gleaming golden jewellery into place. It is a daily ritual that Ariadne and her maid undertake to turn her into the graceful princess that the people recognise.

Finally, she is ready and Ione looks with some pride at her handiwork. She might have little time for the foolish Princess but she is still good at her job. Her lips curve into a smile. She is _very_ good at her job and the Queen has been very pleased with everything she has told her so far.

"Once I have eaten I must go to the Temple," Ariadne says quietly. "I have many duties today."

"The King is no better then?" Ione asks, knowing full well that he is not.

Ariadne's face falls; her lip trembling slightly. Ione resists the urge to smile.

"No," the Princess says. "He was no better when I saw him last evening. He grows a little weaker every day. He believes his end is near and I fear very much that he may be right. If he passes…" she breaks off for a moment and draws in a breath that shudders slightly. "I must pray for him," she says firmly. "I have many things which I must pray for. There was an attempt on the Queen's life last night."

Ione gasps. She had noticed that there were more guards around than usual as she went about her duties this morning but presumed that with the King on his deathbed the Queen was preparing for unrest.

"Was she hurt?" she demands urgently. If any harm has come to the Queen, then her own position is once again less than secure and she may need to change her allegiances.

"She was unharmed," Ariadne answers.

"Thank the Gods," Ione says with genuine fervour. "Who would attempt such a thing?"

"An intruder got into the Palace," Ariadne says. "The guards are still searching for him."

She does not seem particularly upset but Ione is not surprised. Ariadne is Pasiphae's enemy and would surely not grieve at her death. She has never openly stood against the Queen – she has neither the power nor the support for that – but their mutual dislike is well known and Ione does not doubt that Ariadne would be more than happy to see Pasiphae removed from her position; would cheerfully see her dead.

"I will have breakfast now," Ariadne states. "See that it is brought to my chamber and then you may go about your duties."

"At once My Lady," Ione answers.

She hurries to collect the towel and used nightclothes, stoppering any bottles and placing them on the shelves. Then she summons the boy to empty out the used bathwater. Soon, she promises herself with one last look around the room. Soon she will reap the rewards that loyalty to her true mistress will bring. Soon she will be the one relaxing in a bath while a maid bathes _her_. It is no less than she deserves after all. She turns and hurries to follow Ariadne back into her chamber. Soon the Princess will be disgraced, the Queen will be triumphant and Ione will be richly rewarded.

* * *

The sun is well risen as Ione hurries about her duties, collecting the used sheets from the bed and placing them into a basket ready for washing. She will see that they are delivered to the laundresses personally and that care is taken over their washing. It would not do for the Princess to sleep on rough sheets after all (she thinks bitterly of her own small cot and the rough homespun sheets the master of the servants has provided).

As she gathers the linen up a smaller cloth hidden at the edge of the bed catches her eye and she lifts it up, frowning curiously as her mind races. The cloth is heavily bloodstained and Ione cannot see how it comes to be here.

The door opens and Ariadne enters, coming fresh from visiting her father. Her face freezes as she sees what Ione is holding and Ione is instantly convinced that there is something important here; something for the Princess to hide that the Queen would wish to know.

"Were you hurt?" she asks, false concern lacing her voice, holding out the cloth.

Ariadne closes the door carefully and crosses towards her, her expression clearly aiming at casual.

"It was a small cut," she answers. "It's nothing."

Ione knows this for the lie it is. She bathed the Princess just a couple of short hours ago after all and knows there is no cut. Ariadne has been at the Temple and visiting her father in the meantime so there is no chance that this could have happened since her bath – especially as the blood on the cloth appears to be long since dried. Ione makes sure her face remains worried, knowing that she must discover the truth here.

"But there is so much blood!" she says, coming around the end of the bed and beginning to head to the door. "I will get a physician."

She does not believe that Ariadne will allow that to happen; does not believe she will wish to be caught in a lie. She is rewarded by the look of panic that crosses the Princess' face briefly as she hurries to intercept Ione.

"No," she responds urgently. "You can't do that." She looks increasingly worried. "It's not my blood."

"Then whose is it?" Ione presses.

"The intruder from last night," Ariadne answers.

Ione looks shocked (is shocked if the truth be told – had never expected Ariadne to make an open move against the Queen)

"He was here?" she gasps.

"I sheltered him," Ariadne says.

"This cannot be found. We must burn it," Ione proclaims, turning to hide the cloth in the basket of linen and hiding her triumphant expression in the process. Ariadne has just given her the keys to everything she has ever wanted after all – the Queen will reward her richly for _this_ information.

"I cannot ask that of you," Ariadne proclaims, reaching out to grab her arm.

Ione turns, schooling her face into the expression of concern that she knows will reassure the Princess.

"I will do it myself," the Princess goes on.

"You will only draw attention if you are seen," Ione replies. "It is safer if I do it."

Ariadne acquiesces and takes her hand gratefully.

"You're a loyal friend," she says softly.

Ione forces an apparently caring smile and picks up the basket, resting it on her hip. She leaves the room quietly but cannot restrain herself from a triumphant smile once she has got outside the door. Ariadne has just signed her own death warrant. The time of Ione's ascendance is now.


End file.
